


Touches

by spiced_1990



Category: Spice Girls
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiced_1990/pseuds/spiced_1990
Summary: Wherein Mel and Geri like to touch. In all the ways. Just an exercise in form.
Relationships: Melanie Brown/Geri Halliwell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Touches

You’re used to being seen as different, some weird kind of foreign freak in a sea of white. People stare sometimes, and you’re pretty sure it’s not always meant to be insulting but it definitely feels that way. 

Geri stares differently. She’s one of many at the audition and from what you’ve heard and seen, you don’t like her chances of making the cut. She’s cute, though, endearing in her intensity and ballsiness. She also seems to be looking at you a lot. Which you don’t mind. 

You’re leaving when she walks up to you, a bounce in her step, her boobs jiggling slightly under the cropped white top stretched across her chest. When you accept a ride to the station, she grins and her eyes light up, all pale blue. Not icy, though, warm. She pats your bum as you make your way to her car and a short bark of a laugh escapes you at her touch. “My Mum’s Spanish,” Geri says to you, as though that’s meant to explain something.

“Oh.”

This time she squeezes firmly, winks at you. “Good excuse, right?” 

* * *

“Right, so this is where I used to work,” you tell her, leading Geri to the next stop on your list, a small chippy on a back street that looks even more rundown than last time you’d visited your parents. “Wasn’t much good at it, to be honest.”

She demurs, mutters something about how she’d never been great at anything either. Her hand is warm in yours and you tug her along to the next street. It’s been two days back in Leeds so far and being able to show her around has been weirdly exhilarating, maybe because you know you’re  _ out _ now, that you’re not stuck here for life. 

When you return to your parents’ house, she’s following close behind, not a shadow, but your friend. You bound up the stairs two by two, Geri pretending to huff and wheeze as you eventually collapse face first onto the bed you’re sharing. 

“Smells like you,” she says into the pillow, taking a huge sniff. She’s nuts and you kind of love it. Her small hand comes to rest on your lower back where your jumper and shirt have ridden up, and you let yourself enjoy the way her fingers gently scratch at your bare skin. “Pretty.”

* * *

“Pretty doesn’t last forever,” Geri muses, taking another tiny bite of the pizza you’re holding out for her. “It’s one of the main things in Dorian Gray, you know, and there’s this thing called aestheticism or something and sometimes it’s like yeah this is awesome but then you realise that maybe not so much.”

She’s been talking for about twenty minutes now and while you checked out about forty seconds in, you’re enjoying the sound of her voice, how enthusiastic she is. If your teachers had been this keen (or gorgeous - her eyes are lit up, cheeks flushed), maybe you would’ve learnt a bit better at school, you think. Victoria’s parents recently donated a secondhand couch to the flat and you shift a little, making yourself more comfortable on the slightly lumpy puce-coloured cushions. Your almost bare legs are in Geri’s lap and she casually strokes them as she talks, something she does with all the girls. 

You know you’re  _ different _ though. The fights are different, but the affection is as well, and even though you never really talk much about it, both of you are aware (you think) that the relationship you’re building is necessary and vital to the success you’re going to have. 

* * *

“Have you seen this tub!?” she shouts jubilantly at you, poking her head into the living area of the hotel suite you’re staying in. “Shit, you could fit five people in here.”

Raising an eyebrow, you run into the bathroom, arms outstretched as you pull her into a hug. “An orgy just for me? You shouldn’t have, Ginge.”

“Not an invitation, you greedy slag.” Her arms wrap around you more tightly and she rocks you as you stand on the tiles in front of her. Dork. “I swear, I don’t know how you manage to always wangle the slightly better room.”

“Just stay here then,” you tell her, meaning it. You like company, hers especially, and you’re going to be here in New York for a few days. “Save me from boredom.”

She leans in for a kiss and you oblige, sighing happily as she opens her mouth to you, one of her hands coming to rest on your arse. It’s not the first time and it certainly won’t be the last, but as you push her up against the door, finding her wet and ready, you’re filled with a sense of contentment.

* * *

Contentment has always come more easily for you than certain other members of the group, but as you watch Geri talk manically from where she sits between your legs, a small part of you is uneasy, wondering if you should ask, check. Her weight has always fluctuated but now her moods are as well, even more than usual. Everything’s been crazy, of course, the music and the shows and the endless flights and fucked up sleeping patterns. But this seems different. 

She interrupts Emma again and you gently put a hand on her shoulder, squeeze. Sometimes she just needs a reminder. Looking up, her eyes meet yours, and there’s no spark. You want to shake it out of her, needing her to be who she’s always been with you. Her head rolls back slightly, leaning against your thigh and oh god, why does that always make you want to just nuzzle into her? To give your restless hands a task, you wind your fingers into her hair, not tugging but not just touching either. 

“Love when you play with my hair,” she says on a sigh, just quiet enough that the mics won’t pick it up. “Feels good.”

You plan on making her feel even better tonight.

* * *

“Tonight you’re gonna be locked in the bloody bathroom if you don’t shut up,” you growl at Geri. “See how you like sleeping on freezing cold tiles.”

She smiles at you enigmatically and your stomach flips. You’re not quite sure why you’re still not used to  _ everything _ about your best friend, considering the time you spend together (not as much as it used to be, though), but if you were, surely the delight would dampen. And the frustration too. “Emma called earlier,” she says. “Apparently Simon’s going to launch another group.” 

You shrug, unable to muster up too much interest in the subject. You have your own shit going on. Geri adjusts her bikini bottoms as she lays on the lounge and you ungracefully leap onto it, push her to the side so you can both fit. Just. Her eyes soften as they fall to you, and she gestures for you to come even closer, your leg wedging between hers.

Her fingers are slightly rough as they come to rest on the nape of your neck, squeezing possessively. Your breath catches. “I think I’m going to burn, darling. Can we go back inside?” 

* * *

Inside, you suspect she’s raging. Lately, she’s been hiding behind her self-improvement books and her boring black clothes, but you know better. She’s been watching you flirt with Jimmy in rehearsals all afternoon and while a large part of you is genuinely enamoured and obsessed with how he’s been making you feel, you also don’t mind admitting that you’re getting a twisted sense of satisfaction from what you think is her jealousy. You like to be wanted, always have, even if you’ve made your choice. And you have. 

“For fuck’s sake, Geri, can you get it right? Just once?” 

Her face reddens and she immediately leaves the stage. Sighing, Emma comes over to you. “There’s this thing called tact, Mel. Maybe - ”

You roll your eyes. She’s not going to improve if you all pussyfoot around the reality of things, and she, the group, the fans, deserve better. “I’ll go and talk to her.” 

That’s not what happens, of course. Instead, you tightly wrap yourself around her from the back. She’s tense but eventually you can hear her controlled breathing ease, her muscles relaxing. You allow yourself a moment to sneak a hand under her shirt, pressing firm fingertips to the flesh of her stomach. “Sometimes we can all be dicks, right?”

It’s the closest thing to an apology that you’re willing to offer.

* * *

“All offers don’t have to be accepted, you know,” she says to you, taking another long drink. Her lips have been a beacon of deep red temptation all night and you hate how easily your mind goes there, especially because you’ve been pretty damned happy and settled the past couple of years with Christine. 

“Because you’re well known for your restraint,” you scoff, enjoying the way the corner of her mouth turns up. Geri has a history of being overly sensitive to your mocking and the last time the two of you had had a conversation on the phone, it had ended in recrimination and anger. It’s better in person, always has been.

“Let’s practice.” She holds out a hand. “Hi, Melanie Brown, former Spice Girl and gorgeous goddess, I’ll give you ten quid if you take off your bra and pants and run ‘round this restaurant nude.”

“Firstly, I’d do it for five.” Raising an eyebrow, you take Geri’s hand, slipping your fingers into the gaps between hers. “Secondly, I don’t have any pants to take off.”

Her spare hand leaves the stem of her glass, closes on top of your entwined fingers. “Tease.”

* * *

Teasing comes second nature even after so many years, and you gleefully ignore the reprimand in Melanie’s eyes as you gently shove Geri’s arm, trying to get her to move back into place. There’s stress with so little rehearsal time, of course there is, but you remember how it was just before your best friend left, and this isn’t that. She’s engaged and working and this is what it’s meant to be like - you and her, the band. 

The day winds down around half five and you scoop Angel up from where she’s been playing with her nanny. “There you are, gorgeous. Being good, I hope?”

Geri’s hands are suddenly around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder. You feel warm from the inside out. “Not if she’s anything like Mummy.” She coos at your daughter, mumbling nonsense that you’d mock her for at any other time. “Aunty Geri’ll balance it out, promise.”

Scoffing, you jiggle Angel in your arms. “I’m not normally the praying sort, but I may make an exception if we can get God to make sure that won’t happen.”

Her lips press to the shell of your ear, barely there, and then she nips at the flesh. “God likes me more.”

* * *

More than the pain, it’s the shame. Geri finally  _ knows _ . It’s been a mantra running through your mind all evening, was difficult enough to push aside during the show let alone now that you’re lying in bed, curled on your side as if that’ll protect you from anything. 

When your phone lights up, you ignore it. She’s been texting all night, curiosity turning into concern turning into god knows what. You’ve become good at lying, something your oldest friends probably wouldn’t believe. But to look into Geri’s eyes and deny the inevitable accusation? You’re not sure you have the strength for that right now.

It’s quarter to four when you finally text her back. Just to make her shut up, you tell yourself. Instead, you find your fingers typing out the words “please” and “i’m lonely”. 

“It’ll be okay,” she says when she crawls onto the bed behind you, her husky voice not as reassuring as you wish it was. “Whatever you need, I’m here.” You need a lot of things but you don’t tell her any of them. 

Instead, you turn around in her arms, let your hands drift down and push up her small cotton pajama shorts so you can feel the smoothness of her upper thighs against your fingertips. She nods without hesitation, answering your unspoken question.

* * *

“Question. Leather or lace?” You jab a finger towards Emma, who’s currently half reclined on Jade’s lap, a glass of wine in one hand and a bag of gummies in the other. “Hurry up. We’re waiting.”

The blonde rolls her eyes at you, languidly gives the middle finger. “Both,” she says. “Not at the same time, mind.”

Geri touches your leg, pinches. “Melanie here’s always been one for the leather,” she says loudly, not even noticing when Liam’s eyes widen. “Hotttt.” She draws out the word like it’s five syllables long and you can’t stop the snort of laughter escaping your mouth. 

“Nutter.”

“‘M not wrong, though,” she continues proudly, cuddling up to your side and playing with some of the stones coming loose on the catsuit. “I know  _ everything _ .”

“Tits or legs then, babe?” you ask her, amused by how loose and sloppy she’s being in the company of people she’d usually be trying to impress. 

Her head tilts to the side. “What do  _ you _ prefer? Or  _ me _ ? Stop bragging just cos you know you have the best ones. Just stupidly good. Bestest.” 

You don’t stop her when her hand reaches out to squeeze your breast appreciatively and enthusiastically, chuckling at the expression on Kate’s face. “I might need to get her home to bed.”

* * *

Beds are places to create memories. Forget them too, sometimes. You use people and as long as they know what they’re getting themselves into, you’re okay with that. Geri has expressed envy at your lack of guilt and very occasionally you find yourself wondering about, even wanting, what she seeks instead. 

She watches you from where she sits on the edge of the mattress, her eyes following you as you quickly scoop up a handful of dishevelled clothes from the floor. Evidence. Not of a crime. Still. “Couldn’t wait?” she asks. 

“Stephen won’t be here for a few more weeks. So no.”

Geri glances down at her lap for a moment, and when she looks up and meets your gaze, you feel stripped bare. It’s been a long time. “For me?”

Communication has never been your strongest suit, not in this way, not when it comes to the relationship between the two of you, and so you hesitate, unsure what answer to give, what answer she wants. 

“Kiss me,” she demands. You don’t oblige, instead leaning down and running a finger slowly along her jawline, mapping every line and change. Your strong-willed woman. 

“You first.”

* * *

First days back together had never been like this. A stilted nod in greeting, avoiding Geri’s attempts to make eye contact, pretending you hadn’t exposed the longest kept of secrets to the world. 

She’s trying to make amends in her own small way, but you don’t want to forgive her, don’t want to try and understand her readiness to brand you a liar. 

It’s just after lunch when you finally break. You’ve been running down the steps for Say You’ll Be There for what feels like an hour, and Geri is no closer to mastering it than you are to learning to shut your gob. “Do your hips just not move anymore?” you ask. “You’ve never had rhythm but you’re stiff as a board, sweetheart.”

She doesn’t shout at you or glare or do anything that even indicates she’s listening and if it was only the two of you in the room, you’d be tempted to give her a good shove. Or kiss. Instead, you march over to her and put your hands on her waist. 

Geri flinches. “If you could stop acting like I’m about to molest you, that would be nice.”

* * *

Nice, you’d always thought, was a boring word. But it’s _ nice _ having things almost back to normal. When you’re on the stage and revelling in the crowd’s applause, it’s easy to forget that you’re being threatened by the monster, that your family is hanging by a thread, that you and Geri still aren’t where you used to be. 

When you’re backstage and she retreats to her husband and babies, it’s a reminder that things have changed dramatically, especially when you catch her cosying up to posh people you’ve never laid eyes on before. Onstage, though, she’s constantly looking at you, for you. 

“Mixed signals,” you whisper to her one night in quick change, helping her adjust one of her twisted straps. “Sometimes I think you’re trying to make me crazy.” 

“Crazier,” she corrects, reaching up and placing one of her hands over hers, her index finger stroking over yours affectionately. “Just the way I love you.” 

You’re not exactly starved of affection now that you’re back in the UK, but your heart always trips at those words from her. Habit or not, you can’t imagine a time when you won’t crave it. When Geri looks up at you, you feel weirdly protective. “You know if you ever need to - ”

“C’mon girls, no time for dilly-dallying,” someone calls. “The audience is waiting.” 

* * *

“Wait here, Melanie,” she says, shushing you with a finger to your pursed lips. “I need to show you this.” 

You’ve been exploring the woods near her house for about half an hour, and Geri’s been flitting back and forth like one of those coloured butterflies that frequent the area. Except she’s all kitted out in white - from her new wellies to the silly scrunchie keeping her hair intact. It’s possibly the most ridiculous costume she’s ever tried on as a persona and you’d tell her as much, except that it clearly touches a nerve and you’re trying to avoid pissing her off too badly. (You need to be on that stage again.) 

She returns to your side with what looks like stringy weeds in her outstretched hands, and when you sit down against a gigantic old oak, she follows suit. “So Monty and I found these last week. Pretty cool, right? Apparently when they flower, they have a pattern on them almost like a leopard.” 

Her cheeks are flushed and you reach out to gingerly touch the green shoots. “But not now. Clearly. Thanks, Ginge?” 

Geri’s laugh is short but delighted. “Come back in another month or so?” You roll your eyes and tap the damp grass in front of you, unceremoniously moving her so she’s sitting between your legs. She dumps the weeds (flowers?) on the ground and rests her thin arms on your knees, her head tilted back against your chest. “Sooner, please.” 


End file.
